#combeferre x prouvaire

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Les Miserables

Sample Size: 25,546 stories

Source: AO3

[chrysalismandtea]

les amis de l’abc as things me and my friends have said

enjolras: i wish i allowed myself to smoke just to escape functions

combeferre: i’d probably be better off as a jukebox

courfeyrac: (in a discussion about what we should make a podcast on) how many mini sandwiches i can eat in an hour?

jehan: dude i was dizzy when i was BORN

feuilly: (talking about cop shows) i’d make a great dead body

joly: (stressfully) you’ll leave me without a neck, and people without necks aren’t people, they’re corpses!

bossuet: hey, if i made you run errands without paying you would it be considered slavery?

bahorel: we have plenty of grass for you, too. goat (affectionately)

grantaire: (clearly sarcastically) today is my forte

marius: just think about it.. your children’s parent lives on this planet right now

eponine: manic pixie dream girl? nah, i said i’m a panic moxie grim girl

cosette: actually girlhood is listening to loud music and rearranging furniture

musichetta: dude they’re men, they only care about books and astrology

[toomanyfish2]

les mis fic recs (enjoltaire)

as a musical theatre nerd and nerd in general, behold my exr recs.

The Icarus Experiment - Chapter 1 - stvrkey - Les Misérables - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Grantaire's family is the largest collection of idiots he's ever seen exist in one place without succumbing to death by natural selection. They're ridiculous, chaotic, sad, furious, utterly codependent, and, er, they have wings. They're also imprisoned in a secret government facility that experiments on them for unknown (but Grantaire's gonna go ahead and say sinister) reasons. The revolution will not be civilised.

Chapters: 6/6 | Words: 192,710 | AU - Maximum Ride

2. too afraid to love you - Chapter 1 - kkingofthebeach - Les Misérables - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

this is probably one of my two favourites - as a recovering addict myself it definitely tugged on the ol' heartstrings. accurate depiction of addiction.

Enjolras is a university dropout and Grantaire is an addict. Between them they like to think they’ve got enough misfit friends to make a difference in the world - or London at the very least - if hedonism doesn’t get the better of them.

Chapters: 31/34 | Words: 215,113

3. Under My Wings You Will Find Refuge - Chapter 1 - Fiver - Les Misérables - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

"Let me come with you. It's not smart to go around fighting monsters on your own." "Almost all hunters work alone." "Doesn't make it any smarter." In which Enjolras is going to save the innocent masses from the things that go bump in the night, and Grantaire is definitely either a lot more or a lot less than he appears. Neither of them can quite decide which it is.

Chapters: 24/? | Words: 225,809 | AU - Supernatural

4. Evergreen - Chapter 1 - lyres - Les Misérables - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

(Slightly coming-of-age-y college AU that will likely involve R walking into the wrong class in his first week, les Amis as editors of the student paper, an eventual nightly arrest, and a trip to Paris)

Chapters: 14/14 | Words: 160,415

5. these things take time - Chapter 1 - sonhoedesrazao - Les Misérables - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

the other of my two favourites :)

He’s always wary of making assumptions; even more so when Grantaire is concerned. He knows he’s not the easiest person to deal with. People either like him or can’t stand him, and it’s easy to respond to those reactions, but Grantaire—Grantaire is hostile and mocking, Grantaire scorns his beliefs, and Grantaire stays.

Chapters: 10/10 | Words: 63,170

6. World Ain't Ready - Chapter 1 - idiopathicsmile - Les Misérables - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

(High school AU. Grantaire the disaffected stoner is pulled into a cause bigger than himself. Or: in which there are pretend boyfriends for great justice.)

Chapters: 16/16 | Words: 185,795 | AU - Highschool

7. Lovesickness - idiopathicsmile - Les Misérables - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Enjolras swallowed. "I didn't know he had tattoos on his back." "Yeah," said Joly, shrugging. "I mean, he lives with me and before about noon, he's allergic to shirts—" "Why—" said Enjolras weakly. "I always figured he had a bad shirt experience," Joly offered. "Shirts killed his family, or his first dog got hit by a truck full of shirts." Enjolras shook his head. His face was a little flushed. "Ooh, are you experiencing symptoms?" said Joly, brightening. "What's your pulse doing? Are you breathing normally? How do your glands feel?"

Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 11,017

[ryapper]

hii so ive been obssesed w les mis since my literature teacher made us watch the 2012 film and here i am :D

its not enough reading ao3 e/r fics, i need to interact and chat w people about les amis so badddd

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

The Halls of the Dead (Chapter 1)

ao3 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

So I was musing on the afterlife then I saw this post and I thought 'Afterlife enjoltaire?' then this happened. Bear in mind I haven't read the brick yet (though i desperately want to but i'm forbidden from bying books near my bday) so Les Amis are based off what little we get of them in the movie and the 178 les mis fics ive read.

MY FIRST LES MIS FIC I'M SO HAPPY :)

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Time passed differently in the afterlife, Eponine guessed. She had woken up a few hours ago, and unless Les Amis had made a sensible decision and left their barricade, surely someone would have died by now. 

Standing up, she stretched and looked around herself. She was in a meadow, the sort of meadow you read about in books. Sun beat down from above, the green grass was speckled with yellow and pink flowers, bees and butterflies flitted through the air. It was nice, she thought to herself. 

It was obviously the afterlife, but surely it couldn’t be just this? There must be something else, she decided, and began to walk. 

Not ten minutes later, she came to a river. It was easily 8 metres wide, and it looked deep. She looked up and down, but there was no bridge. Eponine was about to turn back when a boat appeared. A boat rowed by a skeleton in a black cloak. Ah. 

“Come, Soul, for you must cross to the other side.” The skeleton declared.

“Must I cross now?” She asked. 

“No, but you cannot reside in the Meadows. You will have family and friends on the other side.”

“My only family is still alive. As are my friends. I wish to wait for them.” Although she hoped Gavroche wouldn’t be here for a long, long time, she doubted that could happen. She would also like to think the French Army wouldn’t shoot children, but again, there was little chance of that being true. 

“You may be waiting a long time.”

“Can you find out how long?” 

The skeleton paused. “It is not typically the done thing… Your name?”

“Eponine Thenardier.” 

It pulled out a long scroll of paper and unrolled it. “Thenardier, Thenardier.. The Beginning of the French Revolution?” 

“Sounds about right.”

“Not long at all, Mademoiselle Thenardier.”

“Thank you.” 

She turned, and began to walk back to the meadows, when she saw a familiar figure sit up in the grass just ahead. She stared. 

“Monsieur Mabeuf?”

[expired-applejuice]

Based on:

Dark paradise by Lana Del Rey

Grantaire takes the bullets.

Enjolras pretends to be shot but he was spared. No words were spoken. None could be. Grantaire was choking on his own blood, while Enjolras was trying to keep his sobs quiet. Still they had a conversation. Grantaire smiled, holding Enjolras hand. Enjolras kissed his head while squeezing his hand tightly. He felt useless as Grantaire slowly died in pain.

When the women came to clean, one, who resembled Grantire, found him still clinging on his hand whispering a tearful apology. She too started to weep and helped the young leader up, pulling him into a silent hug. Enjolras apologized for getting blood on her dress, but she said not to mention it.

Days later Marius found the leader in the abandoned Cafe setting in a chair. The place was empty besides the furniture and two school boys. Marius sat across from him. He took note of Enjolras's bloodshot eyes, and his tear stained face. He held a tight grip on his handkerchief as he stared off into the room. He no longer wore his red coat, nor was his hair at his shoulders. No, he wore a black trench coat that was buttoned, with his hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

Marius looked no better with his bullet wound, broken bones, and shattered heart. Cosette, who took care of him, said he had gain some color back but was still awfully pale. His hair seemed to darkened, and he felt like he aged 20 years. He wasn't sure if he was alive without a soul, or just lost.

"What are we to do now?" Enjolras's weak voice broke Marius from his thoughts. He looked back at the blonde, who was still staring into space.

"I'm not sure, brother," Marius answered as they fell back into their silence.

After a sad sigh, Marius turned to the door. He haft expected their friends to walking into the door laughing. He waited for it, but they never came.

Enjolras found that he missed their laugher the most. The roar of it after one of Combeferre's remarks. The not so hidden chuckles when Bossuet trips. The gleeful victory "haha"s when Bahorel or Grantaire won a sparing match. The sneaky snickers that accured when a prank was being played. Their smiles. Their voices. Their presence. Them.

Feuilly always worked hard. Harder than any other in Paris. Joly was so compassionate and helpful to everyone. Jehan Prouvaire was simply a bright star that always helped them get through rough patches. Bahorel would always have your back in the best and worse way. Courfeyrac could influence anyone to do anything, but was still respectable. Combeferre, with his smarts could outwit a sly fox. Bossuet could give some of the best hugs. Grantaire, as much as he hid it, would have done anything for the group. Oh and how could he forget Gavroche? The little guy had more spirit in him than any of them. And poor Eponine, she was tougher than any of the national guards' men.

Enjolras spent so much time on the revolution that he had no idea who or what he was without his friends and movement. Really he didn't want to remember who he was, because it wasn't. It was not him. Not anymore.

"Their funeral is tomorrow," Marius reminded him still looking at the door.

Enjolras finally pulled his eyes towards Marius, "Yeah. Musichetta promised to help cook the food."

"That's nice."

"Yes, and Montparnasse promised to help Bury them."

"I'm thankful for him," Marius looked at him, "How's Grantaire's sister?"

Enjolras looked down at the table, "She saying it wasn't my fault. I'm just glad she agreed to move in with me, you know? With out Grantaire she probably wouldn't be able to make rent."

Marius nodded.

A few months later, Enjolras walked to the graveyard. He said hi to each of his friends, and even Javert, placing a flower on each stone. He stopped at Grantaire, sitting by his headstone in the snow. The blonde, who wore a green heavy coat, pulled out a bottle of wine and placed it by his stone.

"Marius' wedding is today," He said out loud, "I just got back from the tailors. I'm honored to be his best man."

The wind blew into his face making a roar in his ears. It was freezing, but Enjolras didn't leave, "We've helped each other a lot in these past few months, Marius, your sister, Musichetta, Montparnasse, and I. Talked a lot about old times. It's been hard."

Snow started to float softly down around him. It was beautiful and peaceful. "People say we should move on, past the revolution, love, and friendship. They tell us to forget the songs and memories."

Enjolras laid down in the snow, feeling as numb as his legs. He looked at the sky, "Sometimes I close my eyes, you lot are still here. You're drinking your wine. Courf' and 'ferre are talking about something Courfeyrac said to get Combeferre heated up. Joly and Bossuet are talking about Bossuet's soup he made for him. Jehan, Feuilly and Bahorel are singing a song. And 'Poni and Gavroche are happy. I feel save in this place behind my close eyes."

"That's when it scares me. It scares me because when I go to join you one day, will I see you? Will I be punished for causing this to happen? Will you guys want to see me?" Tears fell from the corners of his eyes making his face colder.

He closed his eyes and he was still there, everything was the same. The only difference was Grantaire laying beside him, holding his hand, "Red, you say the stupidest things. We're waiting for you guys."

"Are you really here?"

Grantaire smiled sadly, "I love you Apollo."

Enjolras opened his eyes and he was alone.

"I love you too, Icarus."

[cherriiramen]

I FINALLY FOUND THE PROPER TRANSLATION TO THIS SONG

!! SPOILERS AHEAD !!

Not many are familiar with the anime adaption of Les Mis “Shoujo Cosette” and I find it quite saddening to realise as it was something that practically made up my ENTIRE childhood and even years later, it hits harder than ever. (psst psst it’s actually what introduced me to Les Mis in the first place, most my fellow Arabs know where I’m coming from here 👁)

I’m aware that very few are fans of this version, and the rest either aren’t familiar with it or dislike it for the small changes in storyline and character designs. Or the fact that it they had to mild it down a little for younger audiences. It never got the recognition it deserved unfortunately and it gathered dust as I grew older, but I always rewatch it whenever I can for nostalgia. And since I don’t see many posts on it, I wanted to give it a shot myself as a huge fan of this version myself and see how others find it. Hopefully more fans would sprout out or join the squad. 😌

Before I strand away from the main point of this post, I finally managed to find the English translation to that somber little Japanese song that played in the background as the barricade boys died.

“Watashi ni dekiru koto” which roughly translates to “Something I can do”

This by far might be the only version without background noises available, because as I said, this anime sadly isn’t very popular.

Let’s hope it stays there and YouTube doesn’t eventually decide to demolish it off the face of earth 172627 years late.💀

To finally understand the lyrics hits even harder, especially when it could literally be taken into Grantaire’s perspective of Enjolras and the whole life or death situation.

Something I Can Do

All the time, I have taken pride in your courage.

I wonder what I can do now?

No matter who you were, you would lose sight of the future sometimes.

If I ever want to start over, it’s because I’m by your side.

The word “happiness” is too far away; I can’t reach it.

Your precious wish, I pray that it would be granted.

Say, look, even the blooming flowers in the fields have a strong will to live on.

Even if a cold rain strikes against them, they’ll only shine more.

To live on is to fight; that’s what I believe in, no matter when.

I will give you, the one I love so much, a heartwarming thank you.

For someone who can’t be replaced, I’ll love you with all my heart.

You have taught me sadness, that’s the best thing ever.

And so, open the new door and slowly go forth..

And for those who want context, I went on my own little research to find this scene

[whooly-shep]

Beep Me Boo Me (if you wanna reach me) Update

Enjolras asks the gc for help and someone gets framed for a high crime

Chapter 2 here

[sharkemojis]

Posting everything I have already written over the next few days. About five or six chapters or something. If u even care.

Okay... go read it or something... oh my god im gonna throw up what if it sucks so bad...

[syrupsyche]

If you're looking for a fic that has:

Marisette being a BAMF gothic couple

(short-lived) vampire!Enjolras and an angsty exR ending

Seward!Combeferre and Van Helsing!Prouvaire

the Power of Friendship

then you might enjoy my Dracula x Les Mis fic!! It's a gift fic for @/feathraly for the Discorinthe anniversary exchange and I had a ton of fun writing it, so do take a look if you think you'll have fun reading it too :D

[thepenguinandthefiend]

Hartley's F/Os - Part 2

Platonic

Nyla Rose (AEW) Danhausen (AEW) Rory Regan (Arrow) Roy Harper (DC Comics) Jonathan Crane (DC Comics) Edward Nigma (DC Comics) Conner Kent (DC Comics) Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice: the Musical) Yukio Okumura (Blue Exorcist) Will "Dex" Pointdexter (Check, Please) Onomatopoeia (DC Comics) Edwin Payne (Dead Boy Detectives) Topher Brink (Dollhouse) Jo Mullein (Green Lantern) Peeta Mellark (Hunger Games) Jaysen Caulfield (Ice Breaker) Nina Rosario (In the Heights) Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer) Eliot Waugh (The Magicians) Tabitha Smith (Marvel Comics) Maya Lerner (Obliterated) Cassidy (Preacher) Wallace Wells (Scott Pilgrim) Winn Schott (Supergirl) Charlie Bradbury (Supernatural) Ragdoll (Secret Six) Daken Akihiro (X-Men) Loki (Young Avengers) Todd Brotzman (Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency) Amanda Brotzman (Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency) Elton Prince (WWE) Kit Wilson (WWE) Courfeyrac (Les Miserables) Combeferre (Les Miserables) Grantaire (Les Miserables) Jehan Prouvaire (Les Miserables) Joly (Les Miserables) Bossuet (Les Miserables) Bahorel (Les Miserables) Feuilly (Les Miserables)

[nerfherdingteleporter]

I have wifi and nobody can stop me, so:

The X-Men Movie characters I pictured as barricade boys when I read Les Miserables last summer

Enjolras: Shadowcat. Main Character Energy, Absolutely Not Hetero (canonically bisexual, and also pictured as Elliot Page bc of course), sometimes you just gotta picture your faves getting killed

Grantaire: Iceman. I'm determined to make that love triangle from The Last Stand work, and I think it kinda does. Minus Rogue, who was Adult Cosette.

Marius: Quicksilver (Evan Peters). This was essentially the result of not having anyone else with an extended family to picture as the Pontmercys, but I think it turned out okay

Courfeyrac: Cyclops (Tye Sheridan) more or less because he was there? I definitely had a reason at the time.

Bahorel: Pyro. The hothead.

Combeferre: Beast (Nicholas Hoult). The Smart One.

Feuilly: Storm (Alexandria Shipp). I have very little justification for this one, I'm afraid, but I wanted Storm to get in it and I was running out of revolutionaries

Jean Prouvaire: Nightcrawler (Kodi Smit-McPhee) for about the same reasons as Storm

Bousset: Alex Summers. I believe there was a tenuous link with Courfeyrac.

Joly: Darwin. Let's just say there's subtext with Bousset.

Eponine: Jean Grey (Sophie Turner). I figured Phoenix would be good with the level of passion required to manipulate your crush into a fatal situation and then die for him. (Eponine's sister Azelma wound up as Maisie Williams for purely Game of Thrones trasons)

Gavroche: okay. I know Walker Scobell never played an X-Man, but they don't have that many kids around, X-23 was already Young Cosette, and this was the maximum era of Percy Jackson tv hype.

Everyone was an X-Man, and for that I'm placing the ultimate blame/credit solely on Hugh Jackman's shoulders.

[chrysalismandtea]

thinking about world-ain’t-ready!Jehan and his dreams of cat burglary and tomato harvesting… same, dude

[yeahnorightsure]

indulge me and go watch The Bread Series on youtube

[wild-oats-and-cornflowers]

Here is my barricade day 2019 contribution! Everyone else seems to have the Angst And Death angle covered, so I’m going a different way, and bring you 100% guaranteed sadness-free shippy fluff. You know, in case people need an emotional hanky or something :D

Title: Convergence

Summary, as posted on AO3:

“Ordinarily he enjoyed a good walk, but today he found himself wishing that Combeferre lived just a little closer to his own rooms. But cold weather or not, it had become something of a routine with the two of them to visit each other’s rooms on Saturday afternoons, to share books and dinner and conversation, and Combeferre had come to him last week, so it was only fair.

Prouvaire and Combeferre find that they've grown closer than they realized.”

Fic below the cut:

Chapter 1: Prouvaire (There will be a ch. 2, but I need to write it first)

Gray clouds scudded along overhead and a thin, cutting wind went skirling up the street, disturbing the light dusting of snow that lay scattered across the cobblestones. Jean Prouvaire shivered slightly as the breeze snaked a cold tendril down his collar, pulling his coat up more tightly around his neck. Ordinarily he enjoyed a good walk, but today he found himself wishing that Combeferre lived just a little closer to his own rooms. But cold weather or not, it had become something of a routine with the two of them to visit each other’s rooms on Saturday afternoons, to share books and dinner and conversation, and Combeferre had come to him last week, so it was only fair.

Combeferre greeted Prouvaire with a smile and an inquiry as to whether he had read the essay on freedom of the will that Combeferre had recommended last week. He had, and they wrangled pleasantly over the points raised by the article while Combeferre made soup and Prouvaire poked around among the rock and mineral specimens currently taking up much of the surface of Combeferre’s desk. The last time he had been there, the desktop had featured anatomical specimens instead. Although the stones he was now investigating offered significantly less invitation to contemplate the ineffable nature of human mortality, Prouvaire had to admit that they also offered significantly less insult to his nose.

The soup was finished, and they shared it, the conversation turning from philosophical questions to a discussion of the play Combeferre had attended two nights prior. Prouvaire, who had seen it three weeks previously and had been urging his friend to go ever since, was delighted to find several of his own opinions on the plot and acting shared, and almost as delighted to argue about the areas on which they differed.

“Oh!” Combeferre interrupted himself in the middle of explaining to a mildly indignant Prouvaire why he felt that the lead actress had not carried a particular scene as well as she could have done. “I forgot, I found that novel you were interested in. I hadn’t loaned it out after all; it had fallen behind the other books on the shelf.” He hopped up from the table and went over to one of the bookshelves. Prouvaire gathered the dishes and put them in the dishpan---“Thanks,” said Combeferre---took the novel, and sprawled inelegantly and happily on the divan, while Combeferre settled himself in the armchair set at right angles to it and opened a treatise on geology. They had developed a habit, at these times, of alternating reading with conversation. Prouvaire would have found this deeply irritating had anyone else tried it. To be spoken to, intruded on, while deep in a book, was one of his least favorite things. But all the summer and autumn and into the beginning of winter in which they now found themselves, he had gradually begun accepting it from Combeferre alone until now it bothered him not at all. It had long ceased to feel like an intrusion and had become a way in which Prouvaire felt that they communicated the closeness into which they had grown.

The chiming of the clock on the mantle, in a stretch of quiet, startled both of them. December brought the darkness early, and Combeferre had lit the lamp not long after they began to read. They had not noticed the progression of the hours. “Ten o’clock!” said Prouvaire in surprise. “I had not meant to stay so late.”

“These evenings always do go by too soon,” Combeferre said, smiling.

As Prouvaire collected his outerwear, Combeferre went to the window and pulled the curtains open. “Hmm,” he said, peering out into the darkness.

“Hmm?” Prouvaire was trying to remember where he had put his gloves.

“It looks a bit fierce outside.”

Prouvaire discovered the gloves in the pocket of his overcoat and extracted them triumphantly. “Is it snowing?” he said.

“Quite a lot, actually. Look.”

Prouvaire padded over and looked. The lamps were lit in the street below, but there was not much street to be seen. It was thickly covered and sparkling in the lamplight, and the air was filled with whirling whiteness. “Hmm,” Prouvaire said.

“My sentiments exactly.” Combeferre rubbed his chin. “It might be a good idea for you to stay the night here. It does not look very, ah, hospitable outside.” He returned to his chair and picked up his geology treatise again.

“I suppose you are right.” Prouvaire tossed his outer garments in the general direction of the trunk on which he had originally draped them. “Hopefully there will be less weather in the morning, and your bed was certainly big enough for two the last time I stayed over.” The last time he had stayed over, they had both been drinking, and Prouvaire, who tended to be a very affectionate drunk, had wakened the following morning to find himself practically on top of Combeferre, hugging his arm. He chuckled slightly at the memory and glanced over at Combeferre, expecting to find his amusement shared, but Combeferre was staring down at the book in his lap, looking, Prouvaire was surprised to note, vaguely uncomfortable. He made no reply, and after a moment Prouvaire went back to the divan and took up his novel again.

He made a few attempts to resume the intermittent conversation, but Combeferre responded to his sallies only in short phrases and kept his eyes fixed on the page in front of him. Combeferre seems to have grown a bit uneasy, Prouvaire thought. He will not look at me. Why? Aloud he asked, “Is everything all right?” Combeferre jumped slightly. “Yes,” he answered tardily, flushing. That is a lie, Prouvaire thought. But Combeferre never tells lies. He hesitated, then said “Forgive me, but you seem a bit tense. Are you certain it is not a problem for me to stay here tonight?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Combeferre answered. “Why would it be?” But his voice carried a standoffish note that troubled Prouvaire. “Well,” he said. “Only you are twitching a bit, and there is a certain tone in your voice. Have I done or said something to upset you?”

“It is nothing for you to worry about. Read your book.”

Prouvaire felt the sting of the brush-off as if Combeferre had lightly slapped him. Hurt, and wanting real reassurance, he pressed on, despite knowing underneath that it was unwise, “But if I---”

“Let it be,” Combeferre interrupted him brusquely, and his voice this time held a real edge.

A baffled soreness expanded in Prouvaire’s chest. He attempted to return to his novel, but he felt his face burning and knew he would not be able to focus on the story. Abruptly he sat up straight, slapping the covers loudly shut. He got up off the divan and stalked over to the door, where he sat down on the floor and grabbed his boots.

“What are you doing?” demanded Combeferre in a tone of mild alarm.

“I am very sorry,” Prouvaire said stiffly from the floor, “for having offended you, and if you do not wish to discuss it, you are within your rights not to do so, but as I do not wish to upset you any further, I am going home.” He yanked at a boot crossly.

“For heaven’s sake, Prouvaire. You cannot walk home in this weather.”

“I can do a great many things,” Prouvaire informed him, one boot off and one boot on, “and I do not require your permission for any of them. Anyway, there may be a fiacre or so that I can hire.”

“It is vanishingly unlikely that there will be such…” Combeferre began, then sighed. He rose and came a few paces towards Prouvaire, then stopped. “I assure you,” he said, “that you have done nothing wrong. It is only…something I was thinking of for a moment, that caused me to be sharp. I should not have snapped at you. I am sorry.”

Combeferre looked both anxious and genuinely penitent. Prouvaire felt all at once extraordinarily affectionate towards him, and also slightly embarrassed about his outburst. “Oh, well,” he mumbled, tugging at the heel of his boot. “If you are quite sure it’s all right?”

“Yes, quite. Please don’t go running out into the snow on my behalf.” The corner of Combeferre’s mouth quirked upwards slightly in a way Prouvaire had seen dozens of times but which he suddenly found extremely charming. He smiled fondly up at his friend and said, “Then I will sleep chez toi tonight after all.” Combeferre’s mouth un-quirked and a peculiar expression crossed his face. He nodded and turned hastily back towards his chair as Prouvaire rose from the floor.

Prouvaire re-ensconced himself on the divan, this time curled up into the corner near Combeferre’s chair. For some reason he could not articulate, he felt a desire to be physically near him. Sudden, impulsive desires to do arbitrary things were not an uncommon experience for Prouvaire, and he generally indulged them if they did not seem likely to cause trouble. He did not question this one any more than he usually did, merely accepted it. Soon he was lost in the pages of his novel again. The heroine was the most absurdly melodramatic fictional character Prouvaire had ever encountered, and her adventures wildly improbable. It was an enchanting tome, and it rendered him quite insensible to his surroundings until the heroine’s father said something that was so very Combeferre-esque that it propelled him back to reality.

Intending to read the passage aloud to Combeferre and demand of him, isn’t that exactly the kind of thing you always say, Prouvaire looked over at his friend. He was surprised to see that Combeferre had not apparently returned to the world of geology---the book lay open on his lap, but he was staring at the floor with a serious, pensive expression on his face. It may not be me, Prouvaire thought, but something truly is bothering him. Driven by another of those inarticulate impulses, he pulled himself up onto the arm of the divan on his elbow. He leaned towards Combeferre and said “Er…”

Combeferre started and turned towards him. “Yes?” he said, pushing his spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose.

“I, ah, I don’t mean to pry,” Prouvaire said diffidently, “and you don’t---I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, that really is fine, it’s your business, but it is only, you know, you looked unhappy, so I thought, I don’t know, maybe, is there anything I can do? To help, or make you feel better---” He cut himself off there, knowing he was babbling. He felt his face grow warm as Combeferre’s assumed an expression he had not seen before, a curious softness of the eyes accompanied by a faint, gentle curving of the mouth. Suddenly abashed, Prouvaire dropped his head like a child. “Anyway,” he said.

Long, sturdy fingers gently tilted his chin back up, then retreated. Combeferre was regarding him thoughtfully, from a disconcertingly close vantage point. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated. “It’s nice to have you here,” he said finally. Prouvaire thought, I don’t know what you started out to say, but I’ll wager that wasn’t it.

“It’s nice to be here,” he replied anyway, feeling an obscure need to make conversation. “I like your rooms. I like ransacking your bookshelves and investigating your minerals and moths and such. And---” he felt his breath catch oddly. “I like the company I find here very much. Very much, actually.” He fought the urge to look away again.

Combeferre was looking pensive once more, but he did not appear unhappy. “Well,” he said slowly, “I am honored. Thank you.” He tilted his head a bit, as though Prouvaire were a curious specimen which he was examining. His hair fell softly over his forehead, shining in the lamplight. His eyes behind the lenses of his spectacles were large and luminous and solemn. Prouvaire thought, I could look at him like this forever. Without even thinking about it, he leaned forward and kissed him. For a moment, he thought that Combeferre would pull away, but then his hand came up to cradle the back of Prouvaire’s head as he leaned into the kiss.

They broke for air. Combeferre’s hand gently slid downwards to curl around the back of Prouvaire’s neck, eliciting a shiver from him. He smiled into Combeferre’s eyes and said, “Yes, very much.”

Combeferre dropped his head. His shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “You,” he said. “Me,” Prouvaire agreed happily.

Combeferre looked up again, laughter fading. He took his hand away and sat back in his chair, biting at his thumbnail absently. He said, “Jehan.” Prouvaire blinked. Combeferre was not generally given to the use of nicknames. “Have you thought about this, or are you just moving on impulse?”

Intellectually, Prouvaire supposed it was a fair question, given his tendency to spontaneity and the fact that this was all new ground. Nonetheless, it made him flinch. He said hesitantly, “I…I don’t know…it felt right, and I…” He cast about for the words to explain himself. “I think…I think I have wanted to do that for a long time. Only I didn’t know it, or didn’t understand it. It’s as if…as if something fell into its proper place…” He trailed off, frustrated at his inability to translate his own meaning properly. I am ordinarily very good at articulating myself, he thought, why do my faculties desert me.

Combeferre was frowning slightly; Prouvaire interpreted the expression as disapproval, and was taken aback by the stab of pain it generated. He felt hot tears rise in his eyes in response and curled in on himself a little, turning his face away from Combeferre and twisting his hands together in his lap. He heard Combeferre exhale sharply through his nose and push his chair back a bit, and then he was on the divan beside Prouvaire, laying a hand on his arm. “Jehan,” he said again, gently.

“I’m sorry,” Prouvaire muttered.

“No.” Combeferre embraced him, very carefully, and a little awkwardly. “No, Jehan, don’t…” He broke off and dropped a light kiss on Prouvaire’s temple. Prouvaire leaned his forehead into Combeferre’s shoulder. “Have you thought about this,” he whispered, “is that what you were thinking about earlier, that made you uneasy?”

“Well,” said Combeferre. He did not elaborate, but he tightened his hold on Prouvaire slightly.

Prouvaire took this for an affirmation. He felt an upwelling of tenderness in his soul, almost more than he could bear. Lightheaded with it, he wrapped his own arms around Combeferre’s waist and pressed his face into the soft fabric of his loosely tied cravat. He felt Combeferre bring one hand up to pet his hair, then push his collar down to stroke the back of his neck, feather-light. The sensation sent another shiver down Prouvaire’s spine and he turned his head slightly to press his lips against the side of Combeferre’s throat. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, and, encouraged by this, pulled back a bit so that he could hook one arm around Combeferre’s neck and kiss his mouth again.

Combeferre matched his enthusiasm, pulling Prouvaire as close as he could; in fact, he pulled him in a little too tightly, causing Prouvaire to overbalance and knock Combeferre over onto his back, falling atop him in an ungraceful tangle. Both lay startled for a moment, then they began to laugh. Prouvaire’s left arm was pinned between Combeferre and the divan. They were pressed so tightly together that Prouvaire could feel Combeferre’s every breath, the shaking of his laughter, the hard edge of his hipbone under Prouvaire’s own. He swallowed and raised his free hand to softly run a single fingertip along the smooth curve of Combeferre’s cheekbone, to trace the delicate outline of his mouth. Combeferre looked up at him earnestly. He turned his head a little to kiss Prouvaire’s fingers, then smiled warmly at him. Prouvaire’s breath caught almost painfully in his throat. He thought, You are the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever seen or will see.

Later, they lay in bed together, Prouvaire’s head resting on Combeferre’s shoulder. Idly, he traced small circles on Combeferre’s arm with a fingertip, watching the shadow on the wall echo his movement. He wondered lazily whether such a state of perfect contentment could be considered an example of the sublime. There was nothing grand or crashing or dramatic about it, but his whole being seemed to be quietly vibrating with a subtle and pervasive joy that he could not recall ever experiencing before. His soul was brimming with Combeferre like a glass of water filled to the absolute edge, to the point where one more drop would send the rest pouring out in a torrent. Prouvaire let his hand rest on Combeferre’s bicep. He half-shut his eyes, breathing slowly to try and contain himself.

Combeferre, holding Prouvaire close, pressed his cheek against the top of his head. This was the last drop needed to cause an overflow. Prouvaire flopped over onto his stomach and furiously pressed his lips against Combeferre’s, burrowing one hand under his head and gripping his shoulder with the other. “You have entirely too much energy,” Combeferre informed him when they broke off. His eyes seemed wider than usual now that his spectacles lay on the table by the bed, rather than sitting on his nose. Probably they were having to work harder to see, Prouvaire thought. He rather liked the effect of surprised guilelessness it created. “I have precisely the necessary amount of energy, actually,” he said.

“Didn’t you burn any off just now?”

“No,” Prouvaire lied. He was rather tired now that he thought about it, but he didn’t want to go to sleep. He wanted to stay awake so he could look at and talk to and touch Combeferre.

Combeferre chuckled. “You,” he said fondly. Then, “Oh…it occurs to me. It’s rather a cold night---let me fetch a couple of nightshirts before…”

“No nightshirts,” Prouvaire stated firmly, depositing a kiss on Combeferre’s bare chest.

“You are impossible.” Combeferre pulled Prouvaire down next to him. “Lie quietly for a bit, won’t you? I’m tired, even if you are not.”

“Oh very well,” Prouvaire said, draping himself half over top of Combeferre and pressing his face into his shoulder. Combeferre turned his head and lightly kissed Prouvaire’s forehead.

“Good night,” he said.

Good, thought Prouvaire, beginning to relax into drowsiness, was not quite sufficient a descriptor. Marvelous might do better, or lovely, or enchanting, or…and before he could continue listing preferable adjectives, he was asleep.

[lilyslark]

can we appreciate when Grantaire calls Enjolras “Enj” in fanfictions ?? “Enj” sounds just like “ange”, which means “angel” in French—so Enjolras is Grantaire’s angel, but what else is new